


broken bones

by saltyblossom



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: Ballet, F/M, Female Character of Color, Heavy Drinking, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rough Sex, Slurs, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-16 12:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12342933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyblossom/pseuds/saltyblossom
Summary: andrew knows what it's like to be broken, and let himself be out of desperation to become the best. living in an apartment by himself has gave him little interaction, and all of his former relationships have been cut. it seems no one understands the boy anymore.then he meets the girl limping to her room, and his perspective changes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whiplash is such a great movie, and it never grows old for me. Although it does stress the fuck out of me, I decided to throw my two cents in the fandom several years late.

Breathe in. Keep up with the counts, forget the numbness coursing through your veins. Ignore the yells, the screams, from the devil near your ear telling you to stay on tempo. Breathe out only when you have finished.

 

These were the rules Andrew had followed the day he made it into Shaffer, and it seemed to be working pretty damn well for him. At least to the naked eye it did--he started off as a somewhat average drummer before his "savior" swooped by, intriguing him with pretty lies and promises that were enough to hook the boy to him like a drug. He had potential, that's what Fletcher had said. And being the naive and gullible guy he was, Andrew fell for it tremendously, not even looking back when he realized what monstrosity he had gotten himself into. Broken bones and flung chairs became a normal for him...but that's what needed to be done to be the best. During his slow descent to hell he hadn't even realized how he shifted his focus, relishing more on the support and praise from the devil of a man than actual improvement. 

"Shit...". The man muttered under his breath, sweaty locks pasted to his forehead. Practices until the dead of night had become a normal too, but only because Fletcher said it would further benefit him. Checking his phone, he made his way up the same set of stairs, glad for once to see no one was up and partying still. With this unspoken promise to devote purely to jazz, he had completely cut off interaction with anyone, so far from contact that he hardly missed it anymore. His family, Nicole...gone. But it wasn't as if he had much company in the first place to care for, as he had already had rifts with these people. Besides, it was easier to just few them as "people" instead of other terms, made it easier to forget them entirely. Looking down at his blooded wrists, he winced as he shoved his hands in his pockets, searching for his key. Fletcher had claimed that contact with anyone that threatened his ambitions was to be promptly diminished, "the best don't fuck around with measly minded people." His surroundings were quiet, albeit him now searching through his bag in a hurried motion to find the damned keys--hardly had the time to organize shit anyways, his mind lost in a flurry of his own thoughts. Growing frustrated he kicked the door with an agitated grunt, feeling stupid for afterwards once he had stubbed his toe. "Fucking piece of shit...". He was so within his own little world that he hadn't noticed the figure limping down his hallway, curls in disarray as she had equally sweaty hair. Pausing, Andrew finally stopped his little tantrum upon hearing what he thought was a female whimper.

Then he turned around, and saw her.

The girl, from he quickly assessed that is, was most likely around his age, though it was harder to tell as she was the type of person with the eyes of an innocent doe. The flicker of energy that usually resided in such eyes were dulled, like she had been sharpened so much that she was comparable now to a butter knife. Skin the shade of mocha was shining in the warm, yellow light, adorned with long lashes and lips that he couldn't help flickering his attention to. Although she was wearing mostly baggy clothes, her hoodie covering most of her legs and had him questioning idly whether or not she was even wearing pants, it was clear that she was fit, sinewy muscles stretched along long limbs. Looking down at her feet, he eyed the bandages that were bloodied and tight around her ankles, reddening upon  realizing that he had been ogling this woman for a period of time that was beyond inappropriate. By the time he had reached her eyes, she was staring straight at him, an indecipherable expression staining her features. Andrew found himself stuttering, internally cringing each time he did.

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to uh...stare. Usually people aren't up this late." He trails off, rubbing the back his neck out of habit. His foot is tapping on the floor now, the thought of searching for his keys no longer on his mind, moving to a silent beat that only he can hear. As he sees her slowly smile up at him it's like his heart stops, because holy fuck he had never imagined a smile being so beautiful. The girl shifts her weight to one side, though he can tell she's in pain as she is unable to stand comfortably. He doesn't want to pry, but he's curious why it looks like she's broken her ankles and still casually walking around.

"It's fine, really. I'm new here, but I'm used to being up and around late cause of practice." His eyebrows rise, some energy returning to his form. What could she be doing that would cause such injuries? He didn't think she was a student of music as she didn't look like one, though he pushed that negative observation to the back of his mind. She noticed his questioning expression, giving a soft chuckle as she was sure he wanted her to continue. "I'm a dance student at Oduru Conservatory. It's kind of near here, but I don't have enough money to live in their dorms." Straightening, she keeps flitting her eyes from him. She's never been one for maintaining eye contact, let alone with boys that had puppy dog eyes. "They've been really pushing me lately since I'm taking the position as a soloist there...I'm considered the "newbie" there, so I'm not surprised for them being a little tough." Andrew can't help but scoffing a little, glancing at her bandages bound around her ankles.

"A little tough? It looks like you snapped your ankles in half." It scared him a little how nonchalant she was about the whole situation, as he could see how she kept moving around to keep as much weight off of her feet from possible. Looking a little closer he noticed the bruises dancing along her bare skin, holding back a swallow. How could anyone be so happy when they were hurt?

The concern wavered on his face as he was reminded that he was in the same damn situation.

"You get used to it, and I technically already have. Oduru only wants the best of the best, and naturally I'm going to get injured if I'm going to try to keep up to her tempo." Tempo. God he fucking hated that word. "Besides, it was either this or going to Shaffer, which I won't touch with a ten foot pole. My brother goes there and he's practically dying...". Her arms crossed over her chest, a look is disdain passing her features. "He keeps trying to get me over there, but from the sound of it the man who runs the place is actually insane. I can take a bit of pain, but what he does is too much for me." Andrew straightened, leaning against his door with a perplexed expression. She was the sister of someone in his ensemble? He struggled to think of who, but came up with nothing, far too tired to think coherently. He was, however, more interested in the fact that she was being urged to go to Shaffer. 

"What instrument do you play? Or did you play...your brother has to have some faith in your ability if he referred you to Shaffer." He winced a little, that came out a bit pretentious, and wouldn't be surprised if the girl just left. Instead, she continued the conversation, not appearing to be offended or anything.

"Piano. Our dad was a huge jazz junkie, so it was only a matter of time before he shoved that love on his kids." Her laugh was low, but there was a hint of bitterness that was barely heard. "Everyone in our family is connected to some form of art, so me being the youngest out of four meant I had to really push myself. I may have a passion for dance, but my dad has and always will be pushing me towards music. None of them support me anyways, so I get to the point where I just want to do it. Get them to be quiet and be happy for me for once, you know?". Her rambling continued as she fiddled with the strings of her hoodie. "But I can't imagine myself ever making it to a place like Shaffer. I know that there are no women there for a reason." 

Andrew paused. Breathed in once, exhaled quickly. Suddenly he was very concerned on how he smelled, if that granola bar he had shoved in his mouth on the way back left any crumbs on his face. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't go for it. I mean, Shaffer is the best in the nation." He was a bit surprised how eager he was to divert her interests to jazz, mostly due to his own personal opinions. "Dance is great but...your career isn't going to last long." It didn't take a genius to figure that out, he wasn't a watcher of the art or anything but it was common sense to realize the human body could only perform at that level for so long before it was spent. 

The two continued to talk, minutes seeping to hours. The girl hadn't even bothered thinking of it twice when she invited him inside, realizing he had yet to find his key and couldn't get inside his own apartment. Everything was so neat, placed in a specific layout that Andrew couldn't help finding it impressive. She had her shit together, which was part of the reason why he had attracted to her like a moth to the flame. Even in confusion she managed to keep more of a calm composure than he ever had. "I never got your name." He blinks several times, staring at her like an owl. The girl's hair was long and curly, face a bit fresher from splashing cold water on it. Was it normal for a girl to look so pretty? 

"A-Andrew. My name is Andrew." That same laugh fills his senses and he's drunk, already stumbling around with Cupid's arrow shoved so far up his ass he can't breathe. He fell hard for the bandage girl, his eyes flickering to a box of records that add an aesthetic he finds calming. Her curves were showing more as she had changed to a more tight fitting shirt and joggers, and he briefly wonders how she is on the piano. Does she know all the classics, Fats Wallar or Teddy Wilson? Who was her brother, what did he play, was he any good, what black people were in...

He pauses. That last bit was racist, and he had enough morality to know when to stop. She gestured towards the couch, capturing his full attention again. "Nice to meet you, my name is Andrew." For once, a smile breaks out of the stressed mask he had let dry onto his skin. She was cheeky too. "I'm Michelle." 

The girl continues to speak, but Andrew's drifting in that state of mind where his senses are off and his focus has no direction to follow.  _She smells like cinnamon and honey._

Damn, he had it bad. 


	2. weak ankles, weak hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> michelle wakes up to a surprise, and contemplates over pain.

Michelle was a woman that highly idolized perfection.

 

It wasn't an option, not even at the sweet age of ten, when she was yelled at by an old Russian woman four hours a day to point her toes, stretch through her ankles, push her extensions until her legs quivered and her eyes watered. Pain had easily become something of a necessity to her--if she wasn't feeling pain, it probably meant her alignment was off, or that she wasn't trying hard enough to exceed. Bruises became a second skin she wore proudly, a sign of all the life and devotion she had poured into dance. 

 

Love never really made it's way to her devotions.

 

It wasn't as if she didn't want to, or wasn't able to. She was fairly pretty, not average but rather observatory in a way that displayed attractively in her features. Michelle's face was either neutral or fairly curious, which for some reason had brought attention to her over the years. Perhaps she had grown used to such stares since she had been constantly dancing with partners, faking smiles as if they were in love for an hour when in reality both dancers wanted to fall on the stage and get off their feet. When she met Andrew, there was something significantly different, like a breath of fresh air that she hadn't realized was available. He was clumsy and shy, but honest. Although she could hear the faint, rough accent of her mother saying "we all knew the minx of a girl was gonna like a white boy anyways", she wasn't embarrassed that her very much classic, Southern mama would say such a thing. Andrew was cute--floppy, brown locks, sharp nose, big, brown eyes. Even though there were signs of sleep deprivation, something she was very much sure she had shown heavy signs for anyways, he was handsome in a way she couldn't describe. He didn't need rippling pectorals or a jawline to cut, he was pleasant to the eye. Normal, but in a good way.

Besides, she liked normal.

When she had finally decided to wake up, she was flopped on the couch with a jazz record still playing in the distance. Her eyes were murky as she blinked a few times, looking around at the still darkened living room with a blank stare. Pulling out her phone, she let out a small mumbled curse at the time. "Four? Why the hell am I even awake...". Leaning back onto the cushions behind her, she moved her legs until they rested on the side, pulling up her shirt so that the skin of her torso could receive some cold air. The young woman almost fell asleep as quickly as she woke up, it's not like she had to wake up anytime before six. Although Oburu was taxing, her instructor wasn't that insane to have her classes that fucking early in the morning. Settling, she stretched out a bit more to reach the other side of the couch with her long legs, yawning while she did so. Something warm and firm met the soft skin of her calves, and she wondered quietly to herself whether or not she had glued her shoes yesterday and...

Wait. Why is the couch..breathing?

Snapping her eyes back open, she leaned up a bit to look across from her. A slight look of mortification spread across her sleepy features upon realizing the large and rather not couch form was none other but Andrew himself, fast asleep and curled up against the other side of the furniture. A small gasp leaves her lips as she's realized she's basically flopped her legs onto his chest, something she is sure isn't comfortable. Going to move she finds herself stifled again as his arms wrap around her legs, snuggling against them as if they were some bedtime toy.

"Shit...". She can't help but blush, it's not everyday you have a handsome man on the couch "underneath" you.  _'Get it together, Michelle. Get your mind out of the damned gutter and learn some self control.'_ The young woman sighed, not bothering to move any hair from her eyes as to no longer disturb his peace. Upon listening closer, Charlie Parker's sax made it to her ears, ending the near of the song. 

Idly she realized that he had bandages wrapped around his hands. She couldn't help but wonder if they still hurt. 


End file.
